


You're Sixteen (You're Beautiful, And You're Mine)

by Yasminke



Series: Future Conditional [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 12:12:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yasminke/pseuds/Yasminke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been almost twelve years since Crowley made the deal with Dean: in return for saving his reign in Hell, Dean’s ward would be left alone. </p><p>Time’s up and Crowley wants his prophet. What Crowley wants, Crowley is determined to get.</p><p>A continuation of “He Wasn’t There Again Today”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PhoenixDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixDragon/gifts).



**THEN (2014)**

 

She sat in Molly’s townhouse, in a dirty orange chair that had seen better years. Sadhana Miller was in her late twenties, dressed in jeans and a Cleveland Browns’ T-shirt. She was petite, appeared fragile, at the most a hundred pounds soaking wet. Her heart-shaped face was creased with worry, her deep-set brown eyes had dark circles underneath from lack of sleep, and she chewed incessantly on her bottom lip. Staring at Dean as he entered, she gathered her ebony hair into a ponytail and flipped it over her right shoulder.

The small girl — a miniature version of her mother — entered the room a short time later, dressed in a pair of shorts, a green T-shirt, a purple tutu and a Burger King crown. Just as wavy as her mother’s hair, Roshani’s was the color of rich milk chocolate, her eyes hazel green and full of curiosity.

He had spoken to Roshani; she handed him two drawings of future prophecies. She then promptly got bored and disappeared down the hall.

"I think she’s seen death," her mother said, so softly Dean had to strain to hear her. "I’m not sure, but I think that’s what a few of the drawings are."

"Death, himself, as in the Angel of?" Dean saw her shake her head. "Whose death?"

"No," Sadhana said, trying to control her tears. "I think she saw hers. It’s in one of her first notebooks."

"I’ve seen her artwork. How can you know it was her?"

Sadhana smiled wistfully. "It was a picture of a girl, long hair, on top of a hill. She was holding a sword, Roshani called it ‘a big, pointy, shiny stick’, above her head. At her feet, climbing up the hill, were a bunch of ‘very bad people’, she called them. A lot of red."

"But how do you know it was her? Did she say it was her?"

"No," Sadhana answered. "But the girl had a crown on her head and was wearing a pink tutu." She looked across at Dean. "That’s what she was wearing the day she drew it. She said, ‘Don’t worry, mommy. It’s a long ways away.’"

~*~

Dean grabbed tissues from the box on the nightstand. He put his finger under her chin and raised it so that she was looking at him. Wiping her nose, he said, "Roshani, listen to me. I’ll try really hard not to scare you. In your story, some bad thing must have hurt somebody and that makes me very angry. But I could never be angry like that with you, because you’ll never be a bad thing."

"Even when I’m old?"

Dean started and checked his laughter. "Old? Like Molly?"

"No," Roshani said, shaking her head emphatically. "Old like Darien…"

He leaned forward, glanced at the door, then crooked his finger. "I’ll make you a deal, okay? If you think you’re going to do a bad thing, like in your stories, you tell me. Even if it’s after a bad dream. Even when you’re old like Darien." He stuck out his hand. "You have to shake my hand and then it’s a deal."

~*~

"Use Roshani." Sadhana grimaced when Dean cut the final bonds. "To take down king."

Dean settled her in his lap after he lowered them both to the ground. He ignored Darien and Andy’s arrival, blocked out their shocked gasps and Andy’s profane growl. "King?" Dean repeated.

Every short, shallow breath brought tears to her eyes. "Hell. Conspirac—"

"Shit," Dean muttered. "Take down Crowley? The King of Hell?"

Sadhana tried to grab Dean’s shirt but didn’t have the strength. Her arm fell back down to her side, causing her to gasp in pain. After a few shallow breaths, she said, "Don’t let them. Have her. Kill her first."

"They won’t touch her," Dean promised, brushing the sweat-laden hair away from her face. 

"Plan D," she whispered and smiled weakly. "My light."

"I know."

"Make sure," Sadhana wheezed. "She knows."

"She will," Dean said, kissing her forehead. "I promise."

~*~

"Not like you to hide in the shadows," Dean said, his voice slightly above a whisper.

"Just admiring the new digs. Quite a step up from your usual," Crowley said as he emerged from the guest rooms of Andy Durnak’s house. He glanced at the sleeping child and the gun in Dean’s hands. " _That’s_ my prophet?"

Dean remained stoic, lifting the Colt until it was level with Roshani’s head.

"We had a deal," Dean said.

"No way am I giving up on _my_ prophet," Crowley said, crossing back to stand by the couch.

Dean raised the gun again. "She can’t even spell ‘cat’, let alone translate your damned tablets."

Crowley bent over to gaze at the sleeping child. "Probably right." He straightened up, watched as Dean’s thumb hovered over the safety. "Tell you what: for the information you gave me, I’ll give you a dozen with the tyke." He raised a finger before Dean could object. "Twelve years with instructions not to mess with her."

"Deal."


	2. Chapter 2

**NOW (2026)**

 

Principal Phillip Jennings walked slowly and deliberately back to his office from the ninth-grade wing. He checked his Get-Things-Done app to verify that his most important tasks of the day had been accomplished. He’d been given this appointment out of the blue, given the responsibility of continuing the academic and sporting progresses the high school had accomplished in recent years under the aegis of his predecessor, who had disappeared last July. In the ten years she had directed the high school, it had flourished, earning state and regional championships in both arenas. She had been known for her policies of openness, compassion and fairness.

Those were not his policies. Life, what there was of it, had to be done according to a precise workflow with detailed plans, itemized priorities, specific times and schedules. Those who side-stepped the schedule needed to forcibly be shown the errors of their ways. With no sappy, feel-good lectures. The school psychologist the Sioux Falls School Board had allowed him to hire, Dr. Mariah Lafontan, had already shown great promise in her efforts to curtail the most troublesome students. 

Ticking off more items from his “Action” list, he opened the door to his office and stopped mid-stride. Feet propped up on his desk, reading through his computer files, in his office sat the demon to whom he had sold his soul ten years ago. His soul and loyalty for the eradication of his son’s leukemia.

“Glad you could find the time to make our appointment, “ Crowley said. 

Jennings looked down at his phone. “We didn’t have one scheduled.”

Crowley arched an eyebrow. “Didn’t we?” he drawled, dragging out each word as long as possible.

Jennings squashed the urge to check his phone’s calendar again. He knew he was being baited. “What do you want?”

“I’m following up on our plans,” Crowley said as he rose from the chair. Walking around the desk, he picked up the antique penknife on display on the edge of the desk. He inspected the mother-of-pearl mop handle, turning it around as he read the inscription. 

“I wouldn’t open that,” Jennings warned. Crowley stopped and tilted his head, waiting for the explanation. “Blade’s pure silver,” was the answer.

Crowley put the penknife back into its velvet holder. He turned to face Jennings, still standing in the entrance to his office. Crossing his arms across his chest, he leaned against the desk. “I want an up-date on our ‘project’.”

“I’m working on it. You have to trust me to do as we discussed.”

“Not good enough,” Crowley said, pushing off the desk. “I trusted someone to bring me this girl before, and he let me down. As a result he’s spending eternity as the toy of two demented angels in a cage in Hell.”

Jennings swallowed, even though his throat was parched. “You have the access to employees and students as promised. I’ve begun the process of isolating the child.”

“I want my prophet. I will have that Miller child.”

“Winchester,” Jennings corrected. “Her name is Roshani Winchester.”

~*~

Dean put his wallet, watch, cell phone and Swiss Army knife into the tub and passed it through the metal detector. He walked through the scanner, with a nod of greeting to the patrolman on duty that afternoon. If Dean’s memory served him right — and in some respects, mostly the social ones, it wasn’t what it used to be — Osman, an alumni of the high school, had joined the force just last year. He’d been appointed by Sheriff Dan Montague because he knew the school like the back of his hand.

Collecting his gear on the other side, Dean paused to get his bearings.

"Hey, Dean," he heard her say, from behind, off to his right. "Heard you got a call."

Dean greeted his sister-in-law with a wry smile. "Any idea what it’s about, Katie?"

"Nope," she replied, threading her arm through the crook of his. "No one’s been in my office since Ro said hi this morning. Really boring."

"Who is this Dr. Lafontan, anyway?" Dean asked. 

"New hot shot, school psychologist the principal hired. Lousiana from the twang of it."

"Am I sensing some sort of jealousy, sis?"

Katie pinched his arm. "No. But you be careful, Dean. Don’t let her pinhole our girl." She pointed down the eastern wing of the high school. "Her office is down there, fourth door in the admin wing, off to the left." Jerking him to halt, she added. "Come over for dinner after. You’re going to need it. Tell Ro she can help Mary study for her math test."

Dean looked at his phone, nodded. "We’ve got _krav maga_ , so six, six-thirty?"

"Perfect. She asked for eggplant parmigiana, so you boys’ll go meatless tonight," Katie said. Dean’s eyes narrowed at the suspicious twinkle in her bright blue eyes. "Don’t kill any innocents while you’re here." She wiggled her fingers and left to return to the Nurse’s Office.

Shaking his head in confusion, Dean continued down the eastern wing, past the science labs, and left to the school’s main administration. It seemed like just last year Roshani’d been excited to start first grade. They’d settled down so she could have a stable life, found Sam after his two-year “disappearance”, rebuilt Singer Salvage, continued to hunt wherever Roshani’s visions sent them. Jody Mills had since retired, convinced by their friend Andy Durnak that retirement didn’t equal boredom, and had joined him in Minnesota to force him to prove it. Sam had met Katie and her daughter on a hunt for an _ala_ preying on children in upstate New York. Now their son, Johnny, was enrolling in first grade in September.

He spotted her, sitting in the hallway, long, slender legs stretched out in front of her, crossed at the ankles. Her black Gunny boots were tied only halfway, and her purple skirt showed off a little more leg than he would’ve liked. On the other hand, the teenaged boy standing directly in front of her, chatting away, causing her to gather her hair in a ponytail and flip it over her shoulder, definitely appreciated the view. 

A low growl escaped Dean’s mouth before he could check it. Startled, Roshani stopped fingering the present he'd given her on her sixteenth birthday, less than a month ago: the fine silver, anti-possession necklace he'd bought her mother for her thirtieth birthday. A week later, Sadhana was slaughtered by a crazed demon because she wouldn't relinquish her daughter to a conspiracy against the reigning King of Hell. 

The boy looked up from his appraisal and nervously smiled. "Mr. Winchester," he said, holding out his hand. "I’m Jarrod Levine. I was just keeping Roshani company while she waited."

Dean looked down, confused as to whether his daughter’s expression meant _he_ was about to embarrass her, or the kid had already done so. He quickly assessed the situation — lately things had to be done at lightning speed to keep pace with her mood swings — and figured this tall, athletic, floppy-haired, not bad looking kid couldn’t be at fault. He hedged his bets and shook the kid’s hand.

From the relief on Ro’s face, it was the right move. "I need to speak with Roshani, Jarrod."

"Right," Jarrod said, his hair flopping around as he nodded. "So, um, see you around?"

"Yeah, okay, sure," Roshani mumbled, grimacing. She straightened up as Jarrod walked away. "Oh, my God. So embarrassing!" she exclaimed, resting her head against the wall.

"What? I was nice," Dean said.

"Noooo, Dad," Roshani moaned. "Not you. You behaved."

"Awesome. So, why was I summoned? Is anyone hurt? Possessed?"

Roshani shook her head, sending waves of purple, blue and chocolate rippling. She closed her eyes and drummed her fingers on her olive green ammo bag. "I pushed the wrong file to my English teacher."

"Aha," Dean said. "So it has nothing to do with what happened last week?"

Ro turned her head. "You heard?"

"That you took down a two-hundred pound linebacker in the cafeteria? Of course I heard. All of Sioux Falls heard."

"Dad, he came up behind her, pinned her to the table and grabbed her boobs. Pippa—"

"Pippa? Who the hell names their kid ‘Pippa’?"

"She’s British, Dad," she answered, with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. "Anyway, nobody did anything! So—"

"You had to. I get it," Dean sighed. "What was the punishment?"

"Coach Trewelling broke it up, sent Hunter Richardson, that’s the idiot, to this lady and made me run laps," she said and shrugged. "I didn’t tell you ‘cause I — I dunno."

"Okay." Dean nodded, satisfied. He could hear a woman’s voice and a mumbled response. "Anything I need to know about this psychologist?"

"Haven’t met her," Roshani said, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting. "Mrs. Castigliano over-reacted. Like I’m going to go all Carrie at prom. Speaking of which—"

The door opened and a gangly, African-American boy walked out, shoulders slumped, face contorted somewhere between anger and embarrassment. His stride slowed down fractionally as he turned to look at them. 

"Hey, Darrell," Roshani said. The boy’s chin jerked up, he raised his hand in salute then continued down the hallway.

"Mr. Winchester?" asked a woman, as she stepped out of the office into the hallway. 

Before responding, Dean made a mental assessment of the “hot shot” school psychologist. Dressed in a black skirt, a beige blouse and very sensible shoes, she held herself guardedly. Her dark blonde hair was pulled back sternly into one of those long twisty buns. Her face, with its smattering of freckles, looked like she rarely laughed. Her eyes were a pale, icy blue that sliced the polite smile Dean granted her right in half.

"If the two of you would please come in," she said, turning to march back into her office.

Dean winked at Roshani then waved his hand in front of him. Roshani entered the spartan office and flopped unceremoniously into the chair to the right. She placed her satchel gently on the ground, mindful of the two computer tablets inside. Dean sat next to her, keeping his eyes on the psychologist as she opened a folder on her computer. The agonizing silence in the room was broken moments later.

"I see," Dr. Lafontan said, finally raising her eyes from her screen, "that Roshani had until this year an exemplary record, with some exceptions."

Dean leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes narrowed. "All of those exceptions are justified."

"I’m sure they are, Mr. Winchester. However, recently Roshani was involved in an altercation in the cafeteria."

"Defending another student from an unwanted feel up." Dean shifted in his seat. "No one, not even the teachers on duty in the cafeteria, intervened. Coach Trewelling took care of matters."

"Mr. Winchester—"

"Lady—"

"Dr. Lafontan."

"Whatever," he replied. "Do you have a specific issue with my daughter that needs my attention? If not, I have a business to run."

She glanced at her computer screen then at Roshani. "Yesterday you handed in an assignment, Roshani. One that caused Mrs. Castigliano profound concern." She lifted a computer tablet and handed it to Dean. "This is a copy of the assignment."

"Dad, it was a mistake," Roshani whined as Dean swiped through the pages. 

Dean’s eyebrow arched and he handed the tablet back. "What was it supposed to be?"

"A report on _Pride and Prejudice_ ," she moaned and turned to Dean. "I wrote it the night we watched _The Green Berets_. You saw and said—"

"Regardless," Dr. Lanfontan interrupted. "The level of violence in your 'story', in particular the violence directed at children, combined with increasingly disruptive behaviour while on school property has us concerned."'

"There’ve been other incidents?" Dean asked.

"Yes," Dr. Lafontan responded, glancing again at her computer. "This academic year alone there have been firecrackers under the stadium bleachers; inverting the color displays on the art lab’s computers; releasing mice that were scheduled to be fed to the biology class boas; a number of truancies. Mrs. D’Agostino found the music chip hidden in the library’s door hinge yesterday. Catherine Malloy said it was planted — in September? Lastly, Principal Jennings has informed me that Roshani choreographed the explosion of the teacher’s toilets."

"Nobody ever got hurt," Roshani mumbled. "I made sure."

Dean cleared his throat. "Your point being that my daughter’s pranks pose a safety risk to the school?"

"Mr. Winchester," Dr. Lafontan said, clasping her hands together and leaning forward. "My point is that Principal Jennings was sufficiently worried about Roshani’s behavior before she sent her English teacher a vivid and violently explicit graphic novella." She leaned back. "And I feel incumbent to inform you that he is also concerned about her academic future in light of these continuing disruptions and truancies."

"I have a four-point-oh!" Roshani screamed.

Dean put his hand on her neck and squeezed her shoulder. "Dr. Lafontan. My daughter is smart enough to get into Stanford like her uncle did, if she wants."

"What do _you_ want to do when you leave high school, Roshani?"

"I haven’t thought past this year," she replied, looking down at her black boots.

Dr. Lafontan leaned forward again. "Your father is right, Roshani. With your grades, and I hear your work with the Sheriff's department, you can get into any college you want." She picked up the tablet and turned it to face them. "And I'll admit, this will get you noticed as well. The narrative structure and artwork are exceptional." She put the tablet back down on her desk. "I can help you with the applications, if you want."

“Dad, please!” Roshani cried.

Dean rose from his chair and nodded curtly. "Roshani and I will have a serious talk about her behavior tonight." 

"Mr. Winchester, your daughter’s future—“

Dean's gaze followed his daughter as she ran out of the office. He turned to the psychologist. "My daughter's future and well-being is _my_ concern. This discussion is over. Do not bring it up again."

~*~

Roshani stared out at the empty athletics’ track, swiping at the tears that coursed down her cheek. The spring wind still carried a hint of snow on it, and she pulled the cable knit sweater from her bag. She wiped her face before pulling it over her head. It was then she saw him jogging her way.

“Yo, Winchester,” Jarrod said as he sprinted up the bleachers. 

“Are you stalking me or something?” she asked.

“Something,” he said as he flounced down next to her. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Fuck off.”

“Don’t want to.” He bumped into her. “Is it ‘cause of that new psych lady? She get on your case?”

“No,” Roshani said. “She wants me to go to college.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Roshani sighed deeply. The visions she dreaded, the ones she remembered from before her mother’s murder, had started up again in earnest. Castiel had been harassing her with every visit to tell her dad, but she knew how much it would upset him and that was the one thing she hated more than these visions. She had tried telling Uncle Sam, but the concern on his face made her realize he’d tell his brother as soon as he could.

“Winchester? You with me?”

“What?” she asked, snapping out of her reverie. “Oh, nothing’s wrong with it. It’s perfect for people like you. Just not for me.”

Jarrod rested his chin on the heel of his hand and looked at her. “What do you want to do?”

“Everybody keeps asking me that. I want to get my next belt in Kendo, work in the yard, live to see seventeen,” she blurted out. “Wait a minute. Why the hell do you care?”

Jarrod shrugged. “You looked like you needed somebody to talk to, so I volunteered. And I’m curious. What do you mean ‘live to see seventeen’? Are you sick or something?”

She mentally kicked herself. “I’m not sick, no.” Roshani arched an eyebrow. “Curious?”

“Yeah. You gotta have goals. My goal is to find out which rumor about you is true.”

“Awesome,” she said with a groan. 

“So, let’s go to the movies. Friday night. That’ll get me started.”

“Can’t,” Roshani said, shaking her head. “My dad’s not going to let me go anywhere. Not after —“

“Dragon Lady?”

“Sure,” she sighed. “Look, I really would like to, but he knows everything. Including the firecracker stunt.”

“That was funny,” Jarrod said with a chuckle, slapping his thigh. “But the toilet thing, though, was superb. Water _everywhere_.”

Roshani smiled. “That was actually my dad’s idea.” She looked up and saw Dean opening the gate to the track. “Speaking of which. Gotta go.” Roshani stood, then turned around. “See you in class?”

“You betcha. Later, Winchester.”

Roshani tried to walk calmly down the bleachers, to keep her cool, but felt she was failing miserably. Any minute now she would tumble down the bleachers. The embarrassment that would follow when Jarrod witnessed her descent from grace flashed before her eyes. 

Just as fast, a vision of her towering above a group of people, what looked like a sword held high over her head took its place. And then it was gone.

She caught up with Dean, who put his arm around her shoulders. 

“Am I going to have to kill that kid?” he asked as they walked together from the field.

“Dad,” she moaned. “He’s just being nice. Feels sorry for me.”

Dean opened the gate and let her pass through first. “Just being nice? Are you blind, Ro?”

Roshani tched. “He’s captain of the Lacrosse team. Guys like that—“

“Lacrosse?” Dean opened the car door. “Is that even a real sport?”

“Oh, haha,” she said as she sat down and buckled her seat belt. “So you’re not mad?”

“Never with you, Ro,” he said as he keyed in the code to start the car. “I had a word with Katie after you ran out of that ambush. Next time, don’t go to that woman, go straight to the Nurse’s Office.”

“Okay. Hey, Dad?”

“Yeah, princess?”

“I have to ask you something, so when are you gonna be in a frame of mind for a serious talk?”

“Serious?” he repeated. Turning on to the main street, he thought about it. “Give me two beers. After that.”

“Okay,” she agreed. She pointed straight ahead. “You’re gonna want to pull into Burger King. We’re eating vego tonight.”

“I heard. You women are driving me into an early grave.”

“Uncle Sammy says you’re too old for an early grave.”

~*~

"That's all it was about?" Sam asked, closing the dishwasher and turning it on. "The wrong assignment? Little over the top."

"So she claimed," Dean replied. He took the second beer Katie offered then remembered Roshani's request. No footfalls fell over their heads, leading him to believe — pray, he corrected — that she'd forgotten whatever it was she wanted to discuss.

"What'd Lafontan say when you were finally in the dragon's den?" Katie asked.

"Not helpful, Katie," Sam chided.

"She brought up everything Ro’d done in the past few months. Claims Jennings is worried about her academic future." Dean punctuated his statement with air quotes.

"But he's only been here since August. What does he know?" Katie asked.

"How'd Ro take that?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. "Not well. Let out that high pitched whine of indignity, you know that one she learned from you, Samantha, and ran out of there,” he replied, turning his head just in time to see Mary tear through the living room. "How's my favorite niece?" 

"Only niece," she corrected, grabbing him around the neck in an effusive hug. While he returned the affection, she whispered into his ear.

"Thanks, Mary-berry,” he replied, pulling her head down to plant a quick kiss on the top of it.

"Mom, I finished my math homework. Can I play on a game for an hour?"

Katie glanced at Dean just as Castiel appeared in her peripheral vision. Six years on, she still jumped whenever he materialized, no matter how deferential his behavior. Part of it, she figured, had to be the emotionless stare he granted everyone over the age of twelve. Still, his unfaltering devotion to the Winchester family — which now included her, Mary and Johnny — cemented his angelic status in her mind.

"Go ahead," she said, when Sam agreed with an almost imperceptible nod.

"Thank you for your assistance earlier, Mary Elizabeth,” Castiel announced.

"Sure! Come play when you're done talking," she said as she dashed down the stairs.

“I’m certain I won’t, but thank you for the invitation,” Castiel said. He nodded to Katie, then turned to Dean. “You must speak with the prophet.” He waved his hand in circles. “She needs your guidance.”

Dean’s stomach started to churn and the bile began to rise. A few weeks before her sixteenth birthday, Roshani had started having vivid and disturbing dreams, in addition to her visions of demonic attacks. Castiel, as he had done since she was four years old, would visit and offer her comfort while she told him her latest horrifying vision. She had yet to tell them to Dean, despite an agreement struck early on, before he had become her father. 

“You know what this’s about, Cas?” Sam asked, noticing Dean’s sudden pallor.

“Yes. However, she has threatened me with grievous harm if I relay my concerns to any of you.” Castiel nodded. “I’m certain she has the talent to carry her threat to fruition.”

“How bad? How detailed?” Kate asked quietly.

Castiel thought for a moment, his eyes focussed on the empty living room. “I’d say ‘very’ and ‘annoyingly not enough’ in that order.”

Dean nodded and sighed. “Mary said she nodded off. Is she still asleep?”

“No,” Castiel answered. “She’s trying to compose herself. She said she had something she wanted to ask you and now—”

Footsteps fell slowly and hesitantly down the stairs, causing Dean to pull out the chair next to him. Roshani, her hair still in the high ponytail she wore when working out, plopped into the seat. Wordlessly, she looked at everyone then sighed. 

Turning to Dean, her eyes welled up. “I wanted to go to prom, that’s what I was going to talk to you about, and now he’s screwing it all up.”

“Who, princess?” Dean asked, his stomach cramping in fear at the likely response.

“Crowley,” she said sniffing loudly. 

“What’d you see, Roshani?” Sam asked, trying to inject some calm into the oncoming storm.

She looked at Sam then turned back to Dean. “You made a promise to my mom.”

Dean shook his head. “Don’t go there, sweetheart.”

“I need you to promise me that, too, Daddy.”

Dean stood and began to pace, hands folded behind his head. Roshani turned her attention to table, tracing the patterns in the wood grain with her thumbnail. 

Sam watched the interaction, the avoidance, the tears. He glanced up at Castiel then said, “Roshani, you know your dad and I’ve been in similar situations. We’ve told you the stor—”

Roshani’s head whipped around to look at Dean. “Don’t you make any deals, Daddy!”

Dean barked a chuckle, and pressed his eyes with his thumb and middle finger. “I’m afraid my deals are no longer valid, princess. Way past my use-by date.”

“Daddy, I need to know you’ll keep the promise.”

“What did you promise her, Dean?” Sam asked quietly. “You told me about the deal, but you never told me about a promise to Sadhana.”

Dean let out a slow, deep sigh. “I promised to keep Ro from Crowley, even if it meant killing her first.” He scratched the back of his head, then turned to crouch down next to Roshani. “I won’t be able to carry out the last part of that promise, Ro. I made it just to ease your mother’s worry.”

“You have to,” Roshani whispered. “What if I’m not strong enough?”

“If it comes to that point, you’ll have to be,” Dean said. “Because if Crowley gets to you, chances are I’ll already be dead.” He stood up, then planted a kiss on the crown of her head. “I will go down protecting you.”

“Everybody!” Kate snapped. “Stop!” She waited a beat, until she was sure all eyes were on her. “That is enough! You,” she said, pointing at Castiel, “sit down. You’re giving me the creeps. Dean, sit. Sam, make some coffee. Mine will have whiskey in it. We’ll get the word on the latest visions and work out how best to proceed. You, Prophet,” she pointed at Roshani, “blow your nose.”

~*~

Roshani took her usual seat in cafeteria — in the far corner, her back to the wall, facing the door — and scrunched down in the chair, hoping no one would talk to her. Her lunch lay unopened in front of her. She knew she should eat, but her stomach was churning and heaving.

She was spent after a night of rehashing her latest visions, helping plan contingencies despite the paucity of detail, and, not having recourse to her normal therapy of drawing the visions in her sketch book, breaking down in hysterics before being ushered to the guest room to sleep. If she hadn’t had a math test the period before lunch, she would have asked to stay home. As it was she’d skipped her normal morning workout, which meant that Coach Trewelling had stopped her in the hallway to see what was wrong.

“Winchester,” Jarrod said in a too loud, too cheerful voice as he slid into the chair across from her. He dropped his lunch tray down.

Roshani wanted to crawl under the table. She could feel the blood rush to her face, in time with the pounding of her headache. 

“Wow,” he said, leaning forward. “You look like shit. Your dad read you the riot act?”

Her brow wrinkled. “What?” Suddenly she remembered yesterday’s conversation on the bleachers. “No. Bad night. What do you want, Jarrod?”

He stabbed at the chicken nuggets on his lunch tray. “This is our first date,” he said, in a tone that hinted she should’ve known. 

“What?” The smell of his food made her stomach roll.

“You bring your lunch every day?” He dipped some of the nuggets into his mashed potatoes.

“Yes. I can’t stomach the cafeteria shit,” Roshani answered, trying not to sound indignant. “What do you mean ‘our first date’?”

“Well,” he said. “I know you were tight with Ken Cho before he dumped you, so I don’t have to explain what a date is.”

“Who said he dumped me?”

“Um,” Jarrod said, starting on his green beans. “Everybody within hearing distance of the girls’ locker room. You were kinda, ah, indignant. Plus, he’s on the team.”

“Oh, yeah.” Roshani frowned. “Thanks for reminding me.”

“What? That your ex- is a dickhead?” He batted his eyelids innocently. “Look, he’s a great attacker, but he’s a wimp. He dumped you just because his parents don’t like your family.”

“And you?”

“My Nan _loves_ your family. Thinks your dad and uncle are fuckin’ awesome. Even talks about Bobby Singer? Used to own the yard before you guys did.”

“Never met him.”

“Well, Nan did. Knew him from school or something.” He chugged his milk. “So, first date questions.”

“This is not a date.”

“Use that phenomenal imagination, Winchester,” he said, pulling the top off his mixed fruit cup. “Which’s your favorite color? Purple or green?”

Roshani blinked. “How—“

“Just answer.”

“Purple, I guess.”

“Hobby? Other than drawing and martial arts.”

“Um, working on cars?”

“Nope,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s the family business. I work in the store on the weekend. Sure as hell don’t do it for fun.”

“I do. What’s your hobby, then? Besides Lacrosse.”

“Old movies. Like really old ones.” He pushed the lunch tray to the side. “My dad loved classic movies. I have his whole collection. Watching them reminds me of my parents.”

“I like old movies, too,” Roshani said quietly. “Old horror movies.”

“No way!” Jarrod said and slapped the table. “Me, too. Favorite?”

Roshani shrugged. “ _Aliens_ , maybe, but that’s more sci-fi. I like Hitchcock.”

“Hey. Have you ever seen _Cabin in the Woods_? That was my mom’s favorite horror.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t think so.”

Jarrod nodded and rose. “You’d know if you did. That’ll be a future date. Got Calculus. See you ‘round, Winchester, ‘cause I got my eye on you.”

“Am I a magnet for the weird or what?” Roshani mumbled.


End file.
